


Scythe (But Ruined!)

by my_gay_heart



Category: Arc of a Scythe Series - Neal Shusterman
Genre: F/M, Gen, OOC Citra Terranova, Volta dies I'm sorry, Volta gets ROASTED by Citra, What if Scythe Curry didn't exist, just read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_gay_heart/pseuds/my_gay_heart
Summary: This is a re-write of Scythe, Citra is pretty OOC, I just took the book and wrecked it so be warned. What if Scythe Currie didn't offer to take Citra as her apprentice? Rowan and Citra are pitted against each other as they fight for the Scythe Ring.
Relationships: Citra Terranova & Scythe Goddard, Citra Terranova & Sythe Rand, Rowan Damisch & Citra Terranova, Scythe Volta & Rowan Damisch
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Scythe (But Ruined!)

Rowen and Citra gaped in amazement, unable to believe the words that came out of High Blade Xenocrates’ mouth. Surely it must be a joke, a cruel joke, but the dead seriousness in the Blade’s face brought them both down to the cold, hard reality. Citra opened her mouth and dared to voice the question that was rampaging in both of their heads.  
“Scythe Faraday... is dead?”  
The High Blade did not bother with comforting them, but instead went on to deliver his evidently well-rehearsed speech.  
“It is always a shame when a fellow Scythe leaves us, especially one as well-respected as Scythe Faraday,” lamented the high blade. “He was a fine scythe. He will be sorely missed.”  
It was impossible to guess at Xenocrates’ sincerity. Like everything about him, his words seemed sincere, and yet not at the same time.  
He told them about Scythe Faraday’s demise quickly, just a hurling of his body in front of a train. There were several witnesses- all probably just relieved that the Scythe had gleaned himself instead of them.  
Had it been anyone but a Scythe, his broken body would have been rushed to the nearest revival center. He would have been back to his normal, caring self. But the rules for Scythes were clear. He had invoked the seventh amendment, the Scythe’s right to glean himself, and there would be no revival.  
“It doesn’t make sense!” proclaimed Citra, fighting tears and having little success. “He wasn’t the kind of man who would do something like that! He took his responsibility as a Scythe- and training us- very seriously. I can’t believe he would just give up like that....”  
“Actually, it makes perfect sense.” Xenocrates took an excruciatingly long pause before continuing. “Traditionally, when a mentor Scythe gleans himself, anyone bound to an apprenticeship is unbound.”  
Citra gasped, realizing the implication.  
“He did it to spare you two from having to glean the other.”  
“Which means,” said Rowen, “this is your fault.”  
Xenocrates stiffened. “If you are referring to the decision to set the two of you in mortal combat, that was not my suggestion. I was carrying out the will of the Scythedom.”  
“We never heard the will of the Scythedom,” Rowen reminded him, “because there never was a vote.”  
Xenocrates stood curtly. “I am sorry for your loss.”  
“So... that’s it?” said Citra. “We go home now?”  
“Not exactly,” said Xenocrates, not daring to look either of them in the eye. “While it is traditional for you to return home, another Scythe can come and take over the role as mentor. It does happen.”  
“So,” continued Xenocrates dispassionately, if a little embarrassed, “Since only Honorable Scythe Goddard has spoken for you, you will both transfer and complete your training in his capable hands.”  
Chapter 18:  
I am going to die. Rowen told himself again and again, but it still was no easier to digest. Citra will win, and I will die. He could not kill Citra. If he won, his first and only act as Scythe would be to glean himself. But he hoped it would not come to that; he would just do badly at conclave, so that she would win. She would make it quick. So, he told himself it again. I am going to die.  
“... And you are a shame to the Scythedom for putting us in this position! You should be ashamed of yourself! And whose idea was it for your robe to be that color? You look like you just walked out of an advertising job for ‘Boy, that is so yellow it hurts my eyes lemonade!’”  
Citra was ranting at the poor young-looking Scythe sitting across from them in the limo that was taking them to the place where Goddard was currently residing. And somehow, despite Scythes not being legally able to own property, they were approaching what looked like a mansion.  
I am going to die.  
The Scythe in yellow, Volta I think, snapped Rowen out of his thoughts.  
“Hey, defend me here, your girlfriend is attacking me! You haven’t said a word this entire trip!” the Scythe then turned to Citra, “I outrank you, and besides, it wasn’t my idea for this madness!”  
Citra looked even more angry then before, if that was possible. “Oh, so you want him to talk, but not me?! How dare you, you sexist yellow pig-!”  
Rowen interrupted her. “I will speak when I have something to say.”  
Citra turned her fury on Rowen. “Oh, so you will interrupt me, but not defend me? We are being robbed of our rights here! And you side with that yellow-bellied yellow freak?” Citra turned away and glared at the window. Truly, she wasn’t mad at Rowen, but instead at Goddard. She told herself to be quiet, so that maybe she could learn something from the gaudy yellow scythe. They sat in silence for a few moments until Rowen broke it.  
“So, just asking for my friend here, but why did you chose robes the color of pi- that color?”  
Volta smiled. “I think that you would maybe fit in with us, but truly, I don’t care for the company you keep.” He turned to Citra and frowned at her. “And Goddard won’t either. Goddard won’t like you a bit. What is your problem with yellow?”  
“Slimy disgusting yellow ugly nasty smart mouthed tiny little-”  
This time it was the driver to interrupt her. “We will reach our destination in a minute or so.” Rowen didn’t blame him for being nervous. If Volta was annoyed at him, he could glean him in an instant. That was probably the reason he was driving them anyway. Too afraid to say no.  
“So,” started Rowen, “Why do you follow Goddard?”  
The honest question seemed to bother Volta even more than Citra’s insults to his robe, if that were even possible. Volta became the teeniest bit defensive. “Scythe Goddard is a visionary. He sees the future. I am much more interested in being a part of Scythedom’s future than its past.”  
Citra scoffed. “Gleaning people by hundreds. Is that the future you speak of?”  
“We have the same quota as all the other Scythes!” Volta was very visible annoyed by every aspect of Citra. “We have the same quota.” he seemed to be saying it to himself, as if trying to tell himself what he is doing was right.  
“Here we are,” said the driver tentatively. They got out of the car and were led into the mansion’s great halls by a servant. They were immediately assaulted by loud dance music. There were people everywhere, probably professional partyers. Some other guests were Scythes, and Citra also glimpsed some minor celebrities.  
The servant led them out back to a large pool deck. There was a swim-up bar, waterfalls, and beautiful people happily bobbing. Looking around the pool, they saw a cabana behind the deep end, and in it, Goddard in his signature royal blue robe. He stood up as he saw them coming.  
“Ah, Rowen Dammrich and Citra Terranova! Arrived at last!” The Scythe motioned a servant over and proceeded to hand them both champagnes. Rowen took one, but Citra just stood there judging Goddard.  
“Well. Citra, please, I insist. And Rowen, please enjoy. I only serve the best.”  
Rowen wondered if an underage Scythe’s apprentice would be marked down for gleaning, but continued anyway, because he had been told to after all. He could feel Citra’s eyes judging him now.  
He then heard a shatter and jumped. Citra was making eye contact with Goddard, a shattered champagne glass beneath her. “Oops.” Goddard chose to ignore the whole advent and continued as if nothing has happened. A servant rushed to clean up the mess.  
“I arranged this party in your honor,” The Scythe said, gesturing around them. Citra snorted.  
“What do you mean,” said Rowen, “in my honor?”  
“Exactly that. This is your party. Do you like it?”  
The surreal display of excess was even more intoxicating than the champagne, but did he like it? Mostly he felt weird.  
“No,” started Citra. “I do not like it whatso-”  
“Well,” began Rowen, “I’ve never had a party before.” His parents had seen so many birthdays by the time Rowen was born that they had stopped celebrating them. He was lucky if he got a gift.  
“Well then,” said Goddard warmly, “let this be the first of many.” Citra gagged.  
Goddard motioned to seats on both sides of him. Rowen sat down readily, but Citra dragged hers next to Rowen so that she could whisper in his ear.  
“THIS is the man who caused Faraday’s death. HE has made it so one of us must kill the other.” Citra’s voice was getting louder, so Rowen pulled away. She shouldn’t be so loud; Goddard would hear her. Did she want to make her stay here even worse? She should just set aside her feelings, complete her training, and fight against Goddard once she was a Scythe and he was dead. He was not getting tricked, just enjoying the moment. She needed to trust him. Citra huffed.  
Then Rowen saw a party girl in a bikini approaching. It looked almost painted on. Citra dug her nails into his thigh, and he knew he had been staring. He blushed.  
“Ailene,” started Godard, and Rowen paled as he realized his master had noticed, “Would you be so kind as to give my apprentice a massage?”  
“Yes, Your Honor.”  
Rowen glanced worriedly at Citra. “No thanks?”  
“Nonsense!”, said the Scythe, “you need to loosen up! Ailene is skilled in the techniques of the Swedish massagers!”  
Ailene took Rowen by the hand, and he started to tug away. Truthfully, he thought maybe it would be relaxing, and he could allow himself that, since he was going to die in a couple of months, but he didn’t want to look like that in front of Citra.  
“Come on Rowen, everyone is eager to meet you! You are the guest of honor! I will only let her kiss my ring if you think she truly is an expert! Allow yourself some fun! Scythes are the true gods on this planet, and you must get used to their life, the new life of the Change!”  
Rowen gave in and was led away, mostly because he was worried Goddard would glean her here and then if he didn’t.  
“Now, Citra,” he heard Goddard begin as he walked away with the party girl, “Let’s talk.”  
Chapter 19  
Citra was mad at Rowen. Not petty kind of mad, but a why-on-earth-are-you-incapable-of-thinking-about-anything-besides-yourself-you-Goddard-loving-idiot kind of way. He had left her alone with Goddard for some girl in a skimpy bikini's massage. He just made her so mad.  
“So, Citra.” began Goddard. “You are different then Rowen, so I am going to start this out differently. Yes, I did try to make it so, you know, one of you must kill the other, but it was only because I knew that It would motivate you, for Scythe Faraday’s old ways can be boring, and would make both of you in time not want to be a Scythe, and the Scythedom needs you both to strive. Besides, returning to a brainless being after having had the training of a Scythe is a punishment worse than gleaning. It was wrong of Faraday to take two apprentices, and though I know it is a sin to speak ill of the dead, I don’t see why you think he is innocent. I am not to blame; I didn’t know that Faraday would be so, you know, as to do... that.  
“But let us put the past in the past. I am a supporter of the Change, and with me, we can become the future of the Scythedom. I think you have the potential to be a great Scythe.  
“As I said, you are different then Rowen. I think that you have a great, untapped potential for gleaning, and I am here to educate you. You have no interest in this party or fanatics, so I will show you what your friend will only get to see once he tires of the festivities.”  
And with that Goddard stood and strutted out. Citra gave a backward glance to where Rowen had headed, but then followed Goddard, knowing nothing better to do.  
She walked back through the mansion, wondering yet again how Goddard had managed to own so much when the eighth commandment required a Scythe to own no more than his robe and ring. She wanted to ask, but refrained, keeping a watchful eye on everything around her.  
She was led into the center of a sort of basement and saw a row of Goddard’s disciple Scythes waiting. She recognized a few of them from before. Volta, the blindingly yellow studded Scythe and Rand, a nasty green junior Scythe, who had just graduated. Looking around more, she saw that she was in a wine cellar. Hundreds, if not thousands of bottles littered the walls.  
“What are you going to do?” Citra wondered aloud. Rand pulled out a device from her green robe.  
“Do you know what this is?” the junior Scythe inquired.  
“No,” Citra said nervously, “should I?”  
“Only if you have had your nanites tweaked,” responded Rand, “It is a tweaker.”  
Now that she had been told the name, Citra remembered some of her friends discussing having gotten their nanites tweaked. It happened if you had a problem with moods, or lots of other things. Citra had never had to get hers tweaked and considered herself fortunate. Not that it hurt, it was painless, and you didn’t even notice a difference if it happened to you, and she always agreed that when her friend Sheila got her nanites tweaked to be less depressed, she always came back with a smile on her face.  
“Arms out, legs spread” commanded the Scythe, and Citra nervously obeyed. Rand passed the tweaker all over her body, and she felt a minor tingling that quickly faded. The junior Scythe stepped back, and Goddard approached.  
“Well, Citra, I would give this a dramatic introduction, but you don’t seem the type. I think it best we show you what we brought you here for.” The other Scythes began to take off their cumbersome robes, until they were just in their tunics, taking aggressive stances. Citra relizd what was about to happen just seconds before Scythe Chomsky, the largest Scythe present ran at her.  
Citra dodged, missing the blunt of the blow, but still experienced enough to send her twirling onto the ground. She felt the shock of the blow, and the pain that came with it, and waited for the relief of the pain killing nanites in her bloodstream to release, but that relief never came.  
Instead, the pain swelled.  
It was horrible.  
Overwhelming.  
She didn’t even know such pain could exist.  
Citra began to ask, ‘what did you do?’ but in truth she already knew. Her nanites had been turned off. What she really wanted to know was  
“Why? What kind of freakishly robed madmen are you?”  
Scythe Goddard stepped forward, trying to set his hand on Citra’s shoulder, a warm expression on his face. “We did it so you could experience what our ancestors did. An old expression says, ‘to be painless is to be gainless’. Does that answer your question?” And with that the royal blue scythe stepped back, and his henchmen commenced to beat Citra to a pulp.  
Citra woke up the three day and saw a bruised and beaten Rowen lying on a bed next to her. She felt like she was going to die. Her right shoulder had been dislocated, and even though Rand had popped it back in at the end of the beating, she was still in immense pain. She longed for her pain nanites more than ever.  
She blacked out again, and when she woke up, she saw Rowen speaking to Volta, the one of the Scythes who had beat her up, and she figured him. Traitor. Painstakingly turning over, Citra saw that Volta was spoon-feeding him soup. Her lips were parched, and she could guess why. The stupid little yellow freak. Then Volta looked over and saw her.  
“Oh. You’re up. Don’t be expecting any food from me, you nasty color-obsessed brat!”  
“Volta, I'd give you a nasty look, but you’ve already got one.”  
Volta turned purple. “Well at least I-”  
Rowen interrupted him. “Guys, what is your problem with each other? Citra, please.”  
“Please? What is my problem? Rowen, it is better to let people think you are stupid then open your mouth and prove it! He beat us up!”  
“He was ordered to! If you gave people a chance-”  
“Rowen, I gave you a chance. Now, I think I was wrong to.”  
Chapter 20:  
The rest of the year is flying by. Rowen is always with Volta, or Alessandro, as he calls him. I wonder if he knows that that’s not the kid’s real name. Probably not. Citra was staying focused on her goal. Play like a good girl, win the Conclave so that Goddard can’t get Rowen as another stupid disciple, and follow Scythe Faraday’s lead. Citra didn’t think he killed himself, she thought that he had been killed, and Goddard did it. She couldn’t do her research here, in Goddard’s home. She would wait until she became a Scythe.  
She killed the dummies cleanly and effectively, but with enough emotion to satisfy the ever-watching Scythe Goddard. Rowen killed his brutally and cruelly. They had not spoken since the branding, as she had taken to calling it. She still didn’t have her pain killing nanites back.  
But today was different. Rand led both Citra and Rowen out into a field. Rowen was a little slow to realize what this was, but Citra saw immediately.  
“Today,” boomed Goddard, “You will be working with living targets. Kill all but the last.”  
Rowen was first. He brutally killed, them screaming all the way, and he struggled to refrain from killing the last one. This was why she must kill him at the conclave. He was different now, changed for the worse. Much worse. He walked off with Volta.  
Chapter 21  
Months went by. Goddard fancied in having Citra fence off with Rowen, and basically practice gleanings and fencing styles. Citra became very good, and her hatred for Rowen grew every time he chose Volta and gleaning over fighting Goddard. She began to despise him and enjoyed those moments of fighting when she had a chance to take him down, and sometimes even began to not dread practices.  
Today was a gleaning day. Goddard worked in mass gleanings, partying until they went out to kill people by the thousands. She went out to meet the other Scythes, with her chosen weapon, a knife, in her hand. Chomsky brought a flamethrower.  
“Is that even allowed? That is unnecessarily malicious gleaning,” said Citra.  
“No law against it. None of your business. Now, do you want to insult the color orange, or can you shut up?”  
“I have no problem with orange. Why do you ask? Are you self-conscious?” Chomsky rolled his eyes, smirking at Citra. She looked back at him, eyebrows raised.  
“But seriously Chomsky,” said Rowen, “I’m not a fan of the flamethrower.”  
Citra was surprised. Rowen seemed pretty into mass murdering innocents. Was he trying to defend her? She doubted it, but still. She was sickened by this whole thing and was currently in a state of denial about what was about to happen.  
Goddard strutted out, his royal blue robe flailing behind him. This was a man who was about to kill hundreds. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” Rowen snorted.  
They started walking toward a chopper. “As if we weren’t waiting for him.” said her former friend, elbowing Volta. “And how many are we going to glean anyway?”  
Volta just pointed to his ear. It was too loud to hear anything besides the helicopter’s blades whirring. The four Scythes stepped in. Citra quickly debated in her head.  
I shouldn’t go. I shouldn’t be a part of this.  
But if I don’t go, I will just be denying that this is happening and doing nothing about it.  
If I go, I'll be siding with Goddard!  
But if I go, Goddard will trust me in the future, but he won’t if I stay behind.  
She stepped onto the helicopter. Now it was just Rowen left. He was hesitating. Citra wondered if he did still have a shred of humanity left and was contemplating going or not. Being one of them or not. Rowen stepped in the helicopter too.  
“Never been in one of these before, eh, Rowen?” asked Volta.  
“No, never.”  
“Only way to travel,” said Scythe Rand. “What about you, Terranova?”  
“No.” Citra hated the fact that she and Rowen seemed to fit in with these monsters. But she needed to, if she was to betray them. To betray Rowen.  
“We are the angels of death!” announced Goddard. Citra turned so she could roll her eyes. Goddard was very exaggerated, but it was amusing. “We swoop in from the heavens!”  
They landed on the roof. They entered through the back, and before Citra knew it, she and Rowen had been handed hatchets and instructed to break stuff while hundreds of innocents were killed.  
“I am your savior!” intoned Goddard. “Your completion! Your deliverance! I am your final word! Embrace me!”  
And with that, the world went up in fire and death. Citra knew she couldn’t just stand there. She should save them. But Rowen swung his hatchet, Chomsky sprayed with his flamethrower, and Rand struck with their knives while Goddard screamed to all of the office workers that would die that die.  
As the world went up in flames, Goddard led the Scythes out of the building.  
“Firefighters, you are not authorized to deal with Scythe action! To all those survivors, I grant you immunity!”  
He gave his phony speech, and soon people were piling up to kiss the Scythes’ rings, their dead coworkers forgotten. I should destroy these sick Scythes. But their quota is the same as all the other Scythes. Yes, it is a little too brutal, but really it is no different than any other Scythes who do just the same amount of gleanings. Is it such a big deal? Anyway, she needed their vote first to win Conclave anyway.  
Chapter 22  
Today was the harvest conclave. The second test. Rowen and Citra stepped out of the limo behind Goddard, while adoring fans oohed and ahhed. People cried out praise to Goddard, and his disciples behind him were hardly noticed. Rowen was glad, because he was ashamed to be following Goddard. They walked into the building where both Rowen and Citra would be tested.  
Citra looked around at the audience, feeling sick. It wasn’t right for people to love the people whose job it was to kill them, but it wasn’t like the Scythes could stop it. She entered the building to see the other Scythes.  
A bunch of newbie apprentices came rushing over to ooh and aww at her and Rowen. One girl took to hanging on his arm like a wall flower. Rowen glanced at Citra and awkwardly pulled away. He took to flirting with the girls, and Citra talked to the apprentices about dumb, meaningless things, waiting for the conclave to begin.  
Citra ran what she knew through her head. The test would be something physical. She could do that. Goddard had trained her for this, and while Rowen was stronger, he was also bigger, and she had a better speed and center of gravity.  
Citra mostly ignored the first part of the gathering. Weapons manufacturers, foolish disagreement, and insignificant wonderings. Then came the apprentice trials. Citra was glad to see the ones who had been sucking up to Rowen were for the most part turned down. Only two were ordained, and the rest walked out ashamed, forced to go back to a stagnant life after having experienced the Scythedom. Goddard was right, it really was a terrible punishment, worse than gleaning. He truly was right to set them in competition. She understood now, though she would have preferred not having to glean Rowen.  
Then Scythe Cervantes walked into the arena. She didn’t know him well, but she didn’t need to. His only job was to announce the challenge. And he did. She would be fighting Rowen, bare handedly. She was prepared. She was ready. She could take him, she had to take him. She had to win.  
They took their places on a mat and started circling. Rowen launched himself at her first. Of course. She deflected and launched at him, trying to turn him off balance. But quickly she realized he was trying to do badly and make her look good. As if she needed his help! She faught dirty and took him down quickly. She had to.  
Rowen had thrown the match. He needed her to win, and he knew she could tell. That she had accepted it. But as Citra walked off the winner, she glared at him. He wasn’t sure why. He had changed and she had changed, but he still wouldn’t kill her. So, she had to win.  
Scythe Goddard through an arm around Citra.  
“Terranova, congratulations! I do believe a party is in order!”  
Chapter 23:  
Volta was at Rowen’s door, barraging him in all the ways he went wrong.  
“You are an idiot, Rowen! I've seen you beat that girl before! Do you know where you went wrong? Your heart wasn’t in it! Don’t through away Scythe hood just because of raging hormones! She hates you Rowen! And now she is in the lead!”  
Rowen sighed. Yes, he knew Volta would consider him weak. Volta would have preferred him to snap her spine, he hated Citra that much. He couldn't understand, so Rowen just told him “I know.”  
“Rowen, you don’t know! You don’t see how this affects me too! I'm going to have to self-glean if I have to spend eternity with her.” Rowen seemed to think this was funny. “I’m serious Rowen! Don’t go throwing your life away to some girl, much less that girl!”  
Rowen knew that, and truthfully, he knew Citra had changed. He had changed. She was not the same person, but nonetheless, Rowen knew he was too weak to kill her. Now Goddard was favoring her, and she seemed to be liking it. Yes, he knew he shouldn’t have thrown the match, but it was too late.  
Meanwhile, Citra was infuriated by Rowen. What? Did he not think she could beat him fair and square? She was a better fighter than him, and she wanted to destroy his sorry ass without him acting like she couldn’t do anything! Goddard was throwing a party for her, but he wasn’t impressed. Her win wasn’t a big feat, because Rowen through the match!  
“Sulk much?” said Scythe Rand, interrupting her thoughts. The green Scythe strutted into the room, grinning at Citra.  
“Can you blame me? He made me look like an idiot! I didn’t get a good fight! There is no way Scythe Cervantes was impressed with that! Why did he do that?”  
“Because he is a fool. And the Scythes will see that, and they will accept you instead, if you stay focused and continue training!”  
Citra sighed. Rand was right. She was lucky to have her as a friend. “Thanks. You’re right. I’m just so-”  
“Nope! No excuses! I'm right, and that is that Terranova! Now come down to enjoy your party!”  
Citra and Rand walked out onto the pool deck, and Citra saw that this party was even more extravagant than the last one. Citra noticed Rowen wasn’t there. Not like she cared. AS soon as Goddard was them, he called them over as the DJ cranked up the music.  
“I am in my element, and my element is hydrogen burning in the heart of the sun!” called out Goddard to the sky. It was an outrageous thing to say, and it made Citra smile.  
“He’s so full of crap,” Scythe Rand whispered to Citra, “but you gotta love it.”  
Guests were filling in, and Citra noticed several celebrities as well. Goddard made a point to introduce her to everyone. Soon, volleyball started, and Citra let herself have fun. Let Rowen go to hell for all she cared.  
The party went on for three days. Today, Rowen was up and about, sulking around with Volta. She still hated Volta. She was glaring at the pair, thinking of all the reasons she hated them, when she saw Rowen stiffen. He made a beeline towards the gate, where he cornered a party boy behind topiary. Sicko.  
Chapter 23:  
It was the last day of the year, just 3 days before winter conclave, and Goddard was determined to lead one last gleaning expedition. Today it was decided their theme would be samurai swords. Goddard seemed especially gleeful, telling them how today they would be doing the world a favor and dispensing of some rubbish. Citra was kind of excited to see what he meant. The helicopter landed, and Goddard swung his arms around Rowen and Citra.  
“Today, my prodigies, you will be preforming your first gleaning!”  
Rowen’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. Citra was in a similar state of shock.  
“But... but,” Rowen stuttered, “that’s not allowed! We don’t have a license to glean!”  
“Nonsense my boy! I'm giving you permission as a proxy! Do you hear anyone complaining? Wait... what was that? Silence!”  
Citra was in shock still. She didn’t want to glean. Not like this. But... she kind of did. She would make it painless. She would...  
Rowen was to stand at the front gate, Citra at the back. They were to make sure no one escaped. Citra just stood there, sword lowered, contemplating her situation.  
Unbeknownst to Citra, Rowen deserted post. He wandered, and he found Volta. His yellow robe was covered in blood and blood coated his hands and wrists, shiny and slick. When he saw Rowen he turned away, his sobs growing heaver.  
“It’s over,” Volta said, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s over now.” Clearly, from the sounds coming elsewhere in the compound, it was not.  
“What happened, Alessandro?”  
Volta looked at him, anguish in his eyes. “I thought it was an office. Or a storeroom. I’d go in and there’d be a couple of people there, and I'd glean them all painlessly as I could, and move on. But it wasn’t an office. Or a storeroom. It was a classroom.”  
Chapter 24:  
Volta gleaned himself. He gleaned a room full to the brim of small fearful children, and then he slit his wrists with a tuning fork. Rowen walked out in a daze. He passed Citra’s gate, but as she called out to him, he continued, determined. He went into the chapel.  
Goddard was there, holding an unconscious man.  
“Ah, Rowen! Just in time! I have saved the curate for you.”  
“Let him go.” said Rowen.  
“Why? Do you prefer a moving target? He'll have to wake up first.”  
“No, I prefer no target.”  
Goddard grinned, as if Rowen had said something charming, and quaint. “Does are young man express a wee bit of disapproval?”  
“Volta’s dead.” Rowen told him.  
Goddard’s gleeful expression faded. “He was attacked by Tonists? They’ll pay dearly for it!”  
“No,” said Rowen, not even trying to hide the animosity in his voice, “He gleaned himself.”  
This gave Goddard pause. “Volta was the weakest of all of us. I’m not surprised. Once you’re ordained, you can have his place.”  
“I won’t do that.”  
Rowen took his sword and faced the unconscious curate in Goddard’s grasp. He launched himself forward... and moved to slice Goddard in the gut.  
He heard a feral scream, and glanced behind him, surprised. Citra leapt onto Rowen’s back, toppling him over. He tried to get up, but she kicked his legs out from under him.  
“What are you doing Citra?! I'm going to kill him! Volta died, and I'm going to kill him!”  
But Citra didn’t falter, they faught, and actual fight, with each trying their best, with Goddard’s eyes watching all the way. They both faught hard, but in the end, Citra won. She moved close and whispered in his ear, “I defeated you. I will become the Scythe, and you’d best not be ‘throwing’ anything!”  
And with that she snapped his neck.  
Chapter 25:  
It was time for the Winter Conclave. Citra arrived in a limo with Goddard and Rand, but Chomsky roughly manhandled Rowen, basically shoving him out of a car that followed. After Citra foiled Rowen’s attempt to glean Goddard, she was cherished and extremely favored. The whole of Goddard’s group went right from mourning Volta to celebrating Citra and cursing Rowen.  
Rowen was basically beaten to a pulp and scorned, all the while trying to deal with his best friend Volta’s- no, Shawn’s- death. Eventually they let him go back, but he was always watched, and never again a part of their group. His role was fighting Citra, and he took it gladly, always trying to hurt her. She stopped him from killing Goddard. She had sided with him, and if she became a Scythe would replace Volta in helping him.  
Volta.  
But now it was time for the Winter Conclave, and even though this time he was brought in as a prisoner, Rowen felt stronger than all the previous conclaves. He was filled with a purpose; to survive and kill Citra.  
Citra, however, was feeling confident. She had been told what thee challenge was; to kill her little brother. HA! She could do that, no questions asked. He’d just be revived later, and if she won, he’d have infinity to live! Her win was practically guaranteed. Everyone hated Rowen. Old and New.  
That evening, Citra completed her challenge. It was fast, and it was easy. Ben will be as good as new tomorrow. Rowen felt the same way about shooting his mother. He barely even knew her anyway.  
Now, they were waiting for the Conclave to move on to the apprentices. Citra was nonchalant. Rowen was tense. And after what seemed like an eternity, they called up apprentices to the stage. The others had failed the third trial and were not potential candidates for Scythedom.  
Citra and Rowen locked eyes, both sets narrowed and angry as they walked up to Scythe Mandela to find out who would receive the ring and who would die.  
“So, let it be known, now and forevermore... that Citra Terranova shall wear the ring of Scythehood!”  
The crowd burst into cheers, with Goddard’s section screaming the loudest.  
“No!” cried Rowen.  
“Have you chosen your patron historic?” asked Mandela.  
“I have, your honor.”  
“Then take this ring that I hold out to you and tell the world who... you... now... are.”  
Citra held up her hand. “I choose to be known as Scythe Hatshepsut," she told them. “For one of the first female pharos of Egypt, whose great power allowed her to be excepted as an exemplary ruler, even though she was female. I will carry on that power in current times, to remake the world.”  
The crowd started applauding. Rowen felt increasingly sick, but frozen still.  
“Now,” continued Scythe Hatshepsut, “I believe I have a gleaning to do.”  
Rowen leapt up. He glanced around, but there were no weapons near him. But then, out of nowhere, Rowen felt a knife poking into his back, and he had to freeze, sweat dripping down his forehead. Don’t give her the satisfaction. Don't give her something to be pleased over. Don’t let her be joyous about this. Make it horrible for her. Something she won’t treasure, something that will haunt her.  
Citra went to grab a knife, like the one she used to kill her brother the day before. She approached Rowen, the boy she used to be so sure she loved. Scythe Twain was right. Love and murder really are intertwined.  
“Any last words, Rowen?” taunted Citra.  
“Yes,” said Rowen. He would set aside his feelings for this and conjure up his old ones. Make this something she would regret. “I love you Citra. I wish this didn’t have to end this way. If I could be gleaned by anyone, it would be you. Thank you for this honor, and I am only sorry I can’t see what you do to remake the world. Thank you, Citra Terranova, Scythe Hatshepsut.”  
Citra’s eyes widened. He was trying to make her look bad. He was lucky, the moronic would-be Scythe killer. A Scythe brought her a tray of knives, but she turned them down. She stepped forward so she was making eye contact with him.  
“No, thank you.” She pulled him forward, then tackled him down. Once he was on the ground gasping up at her, she smiled. “For the pleasure of this.” Then she snapped his spine.  
Several Scythes gasped, but soon a cheer started up.  
Goddard stepped onstage beside her, and she took her place by his right-hand side, where she belonged. With her former best friend’s blood on the ground, and the person who he hated most beside her, Citra smiled. The world had yet to see what a fine weapon Scythe Hatshepsut could be.


End file.
